


Rate of Return

by Pixie (Ayiana)



Category: JAG
Genre: Episode Reaction, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-12-20
Updated: 2004-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-06 09:52:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ayiana/pseuds/Pixie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story isn't meant as an episode reaction piece, but it does rely heavily on the events of <i>Four Percent Solution</i>. My intent was to write a tale that could easily happen "behind the scenes" any time after TFPS. As of right now, I think it works. Two or three episodes from now . . . who knows?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rate of Return

Harm pushed himself away from the desk and stood up. He twisted his upper body, working a kink out of his back and absently glancing toward the window as he did. It was dark outside, and he found himself face to face with his own ghostly image. He sighed as he glanced at his watch, another workday begun and ended in darkness. He felt like he hadn't been out in the sun in months, though in reality it had only been a few days. He turned back to his desk, took a few minutes to square it away for the night, and collected his things. It was time to go home.

He turned off his office light and pulled the door closed behind him, listening for the soft sound of the latch settling into place. He locked it, pocketed the key, and was turning to go when a glimmer of light caught his eye. Mac was still here? He glanced at his watch and moved toward her office, hoping to convince her that it was time to call it a night. Her office door was open, but the desk was cleared except for a lonely legal pad and a pair of two inch pencils. He glanced around, and then pocketed the pencils, exchanging them for new ones from his briefcase. Chances were, she'd never even notice the switch, and he knew the longer pencils would be less likely to cramp her hand as she wrote.

He noticed that her coat was gone, but her computer was still turned on, its fan whirring quietly in the empty room. The carousel Webb had sent to her sat on a high shelf, dusty and forlorn, and Harm suspected she'd not looked at it in weeks. The rest of the office was as neat as ever, and Harm mentally compared it to the utter chaos that had been her style during her early years at JAG. He'd read once that an office, like a home, was supposed to be a reflection of its owner's personality. Fleetingly, he considered what that might indicate about Mac. Then he shrugged off the fanciful thought and put down his briefcase, deciding to track her down and make sure she was okay before he left.

He checked the bullpen first, and then worked his way through the building, checking the empty court rooms, the break room, and even knocking on the lady's room door. By the time he pushed through the main entrance, concern was nibbling at the edges of his mind. He shoved it firmly away. Mac was an adult, and a Marine, and she was well able to take care of herself. Still, he'd feel better after he found her.

He stood for a moment, allowing his eyes to adjust to the night. Bright lights flooded the parking lot, and a number of spotlights splashed their harsh brilliance across the front of the building, their beams overflowing into the shrubbery and lending an eerie glow to distant objects. Beyond the reach of the manmade daylight, darkness still hovered, as though biding its time with stubborn patience, waiting for an opportunity to swallow the building and its surroundings into the enveloping stillness of the night.

"Mac?" He called softly, not wanting to attract the attention of the night guards. "Are you out here?"

"Over here, Harm." Her voice drifted out of the shadows, and he turned, finally spotting her leaning against the wall of the next building. Harm blew out a breath, releasing his concern on the fog of vapor that ghosted into the night. He started toward her.

Mac waited for him, apparently in no hurry to go anyplace, despite the lateness of the hour.

"Hi," she said, as he drew near.

"Hi yourself." His mouth tilted up at the corners. "What are you doing out here? It's freezing."

"It isn't so bad, really. At least there isn't any wind."

It was true. The night was still, its icy fingers reaching silently through his nasal passages and down into his lungs, chilling him from the inside out. He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets and cocked his head at her.

"That answers the second part of my comment, but not the first, Counselor. What are you doing out here?"

"I just wanted to take a break for a few minutes. It gets a little stuffy in there sometimes."

Harm was well aware that this was true. It was also a big part of why he hated having to be in court after lunch on cold winter days. The combination of a full stomach and an over-warm room could be lethal to one's ability to focus. He folded his arms and leaned against the wall next to her. For a long time, they stood quietly, somehow finding peace in the quiet of the evening. Harm waited for Mac to talk, listening absently to the sounds of distant traffic. Several minutes passed before he heard her take a deep breath and start to speak.

"Do you remember when you came to the hospital after my accident?"

"Of course I do," he answered.

She hesitated for a moment, biting her lip. Had it been any other woman, Harm would've thought she was nervous, but not Mac. He'd never known a more self-assured woman than Mac.

"I told you I was sorry for pushing you away."

"I remember." He kept his voice low.

"You never asked why."

"Why you were sorry?"

"No. You never asked me why I'd been pushing you away."

"Like I said, I knew you had some things to work through."

She snorted and pushed herself away from the wall, walking briskly down a path that wound around the building to a picnic area in the back. Harm fell into step beside her, wondering where she was headed with this conversation. She didn't say anything else until she'd settled herself on a stone bench. The night pressed closer here, for regardless of how hard they tried, the spotlights couldn't quite wrap their tendrils around to the back of the building. Instead, the light peeked around the corners as though wondering why anybody would voluntarily venture into the shadows. Harm sat down next to her.

"Why did you?"

"Hmm?" she started slightly, as though she'd almost forgotten his presence.

"Why did you push me away?"

"I had some things I had to work through," she said, mimicking him with a tiny impish grin. But her smile faded as quickly as it had come. "I . . . "

She trailed off, and he waited a moment before prompting her. "Mac?"

She glanced at him, and then averted her eyes. "How much do you know about investments?" she asked.

"Enough to get by. Why do you ask? Has something happened?"

"No. Nothing like that. It's just something Dr. McCool said."

"Dr. McCool?"

"My therapist."

"Ahh."

"Does that shock you? That I'm seeing a therapist, I mean?"

"Not really. I'm just glad you found somebody you could talk to." He fought back the disappointment that flowed through him with the knowledge that she hadn't felt she could talk to him, but it must've colored his voice, because she met his eyes, her expression earnest.

"Harm, you don't understand. Some of the stuff I had to work out concerned you."

"Oh?" He wasn't sure if he was glad to know this or not, but decided not to press her for details.

"Yes." She dropped her eyes, and silence descended upon them again. Somewhere in the distance a horn blared.

"Was the doctor able to help you?" he finally asked.

"Sort of." He raised an eyebrow, and she went on. "Turns out, the hardest part of the work is something I have to do on my own."

He sighed. "That's the way it usually goes, unfortunately. Anything I can help with?"

She didn't answer right away, and long seconds passed during which Harm became increasingly aware that granite benches were not comfortable resting places in January – no matter how mild the winter had been so far.

"I told her it was too late."

"Too late for what?" he asked, puzzled by the apparent non sequitur, and then, "Oh. Too late to have a baby, you mean. But we already talked about that. There are other options, Mac."

"No."

"No . . . what?"

"We weren't talking about babies at the time."

"Then what exactly is it too late for?"

She turned toward him, and he struggled to read her expression in the dim light. "It's too late for us."

The words stopped his heart and froze him in place, his blood turning to ice in his veins. He'd thought they were beyond this, thought they'd made a commitment to each other. Granted, it was tenuous, and she'd never actually said she wanted to be with him, but still, he'd assumed . . .

"Why?" He choked out the single word, forcing it through lips numb with pain and disappointment.

"Because there's somebody else." There was something strange about the way she said it, as though he shouldn't have been surprised by her news.

Harm stood abruptly and moved a few steps away from her, needing the space to free his mind for clearer thinking. She'd found somebody else? It had only been a matter of a few months since the admiral's dining out. Where . . . ? When . . . ?

"Who is it?" He asked, trying and failing to keep the bitterness out of his voice. "Webb? Is he back again?"

"What?" Mac sounded confused, but he pressed on, no longer trying to keep his feelings under control.

"You said there's somebody else," he snapped, "and the only somebody else I can come up with is Webb."

She snorted her derision at that idea. "No. I'm not going back to Webb. I learned my lesson there."

"Then who is it?"

She stared at him for a minute, and then stood abruptly, tugging her collar close against her neck. Shoving her hands deep into the pockets of her coat, as though only just now becoming aware of the chill, she stepped closer to him, stopping with her body at an angle to his so he couldn't see her face.

"I told Dr. McCool that in a lot of ways you'd outgrown me," she said, in a conversational about face that left him baffled.

"How do you figure that?"

He sensed her shrug next to him, but waited for her to speak, completely clueless as to where this conversation might be leading.

"You've moved on. I know that. I just wanted you to know that I'm okay with it."

Now he did turn toward her, grasping her shoulders and pulling her around until he could see her face.

"Mac, I have no idea what you're talking about, but I assure you, I've not 'outgrown you' as you put it, and no way have I moved anywhere."

She lifted her eyes to meet his, doubt warring with hope in her expression. "Dr. McCool thought I was jumping to conclusions."

Harm sighed in exasperation. "Are you going to tell me what the hell you're talking about, or am I going to have to go see the good doctor myself?"

"Oh, God," she burst out. "Don't do that!"

"All right, then," he answered, smiling faintly. "Talk to me."

"Do you remember that night I came over to see you?"

"The night Alicia was there?"

"Yes," said Mac. "The night Alicia was there."

"What about it?"

She just looked at him, and suddenly he understood. She honestly thought he and Alicia were involved.

"Mac, I haven't seen Alicia in weeks. That was a working dinner. We were talking about a case."

She stared at him, as though trying to decide whether or not to believe him.

"Do you trust me so little, Mac? After everything I said to you at the admiral's dining out, do you honestly think I'd start something with another woman?"

He dropped his hands from her shoulders and wheeled away, coming to a stop with his back to her. For long moments, he stared out into the darkness, oblivious to the cold now, his mind struggling to make sense of the strange conversation. It had been a fluke of timing, her stopping by on the one night in a hundred when he had company, and it really had been a working dinner. But Mac had jumped to conclusions, and it had cost them months. He sighed heavily. At this rate, they'd both be in wheelchairs before they figured this thing out.

Damnit, no. He wasn't going to go through this again. She'd said once that she wanted a man who stated his intentions and followed through. Well, he'd do just that and see what happened. Things couldn't get any more convoluted than they already were.

He spun on his heel and took two long strides to where she stood beneath a towering oak tree. Without stopping to consider the wisdom of what he was doing, he dragged her into his arms, molding her slim body against his own, ignoring her feeble struggle. He looked into her startled eyes for the space of a single heartbeat before dropping his head and taking her lips with his own, unwilling to deny himself the pleasure any longer.

Her initial lack of response melted away, and she relaxed against him, her soft body fitting against his like the missing piece of a jigsaw puzzle. One of her arms found its way around his waist, and the other came to rest on his chest, her light touch setting fire to emotions he'd long held in check. She opened to him, and he couldn't help the low moan that escaped his throat as he delved into the warm sweetness that was hers alone. Her response delighted and enflamed him, and he tightened his hold on her.

Somewhere nearby a car door slammed, the sound serving as an unwelcome reminder of place and time. Slowly, Harm gentled the kiss, taking his time about it, not really caring who might come upon them from the shadows. Finally, he pulled away from her just enough to look into her wide eyes.

"Now," he said quietly. "Do you still think I've outgrown you?"

Mac rested her hand on his chest and leaned back slightly in his arms, her eyes wide and dark in the dimness of the night. "Not so much, no."

"Good. Is there anything else we need to talk about?"

"Do you really think we can make this work?"

"I really think it's worth a try," he said. "At least then we'll know for sure."

"What about our jobs?"

"Let's cross that bridge later, okay? Right now, I just want to be able to hold you without fearing for my life."

Mac laughed a little, and the sound of it made him smile. "Yes," she said, grinning up at him, "we Marines are pretty scary."

"You can be," he said, earning himself a light swat on the shoulder. "Now, can we get inside where it's warm? I think my toes are getting frostbite."

"Sure, but just long enough for us to grab our things."

"Oh? And then where are we going, Ms. MacKenzie?"

"Your place," she said, and before he could respond she moved briskly away from him, completely unaware of the look of pleased surprise he directed at her back as she went.

Grabbing his cover from where he'd dropped it on the bench, he hurried after her, and the darkness closed in protectively around the place where two people had at last found their way home.


End file.
